Not Death, But Love
by notevenifyoukillme
Summary: Throughout his life, none of it mattered; not like she did. Receiving an urgent call, Angel rushes to see Buffy one last time.


**Authors Note: **I do not in any way, shape or form own or profit from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of its' affiliates. They are solely the property of Joss Whedon &etc.  
Okay, this is something I wrote recently. I mention a few different things about Buffy's life vaguely that don't relate to the canonical story in any way. Most of it is fairly vague, as I'm not focusing on what's going on at the time besides the immediate present. Just a simple one-shot.  
The poem I've used here is the first one from Sonnets of the Portuguese by Emily Barret Brown, which is the book Angel gave Buffy for her eighteenth birthday; I don't own that either. I hope you like this, and reviews would be just excellent.

* * *

The skies outside were overcast, not permitting the sun to shine through the cloud cover. He was grateful for this, and for the second time in his unlife he felt like someone was watching over them.

"_I thought once of how Theocritus had sung  
__Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,"_

He sped through the nameless cities, vaguely aware of the distance he had travelled by the numbers that flashed at him. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Not like she did.

"_Who each one in gracious hand appears  
__To bear a gift for mortals, old or young;" _

The plane trip was excruciating. He hid himself in the bathroom for a large portion of the flight, receiving several disgusted glances when he incidentally left his cubicle just as the tall brunette woman across from him did. It was all he could do - knowing he was immortal and practically infallible - not to lunge out of the plane when the voice overhead informed the cabin of their quickly impending landing. He saw the man beside him clutch a cross attached to his necklace very tightly when Angel spotted the landing pad approaching and clenched the armrest of his seat so forcefully that five slender dents were left imprinted into the plastic.

"_And as I mused his antique tongue  
__I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,  
__The sweet sad years, the melancholy years,"_

Numbers didn't mean anything by the time he was on his second car-trip of the seemingly-perpetual day. Places ceased to be anything other than plotted points either hindering or helping him in his path to her. He was thankful for the sunset and the dark that had fallen across the landscape during the flight, and his senses assured his doubtful mind that he had to be drawing close.

Surely enough, he was. He spotted the number and treaded urgently up the unfamiliar steps.

"_Those of my life, who by turns had flung  
__A shadow across me," _

He would have smashed the door in, destroyed the frames if that was what it would have taken to gain access.

Luckily, it took considerably less than that. Hurried introductions were made and Angel would have been delighted to meet the young woman that so resembled her in any other circumstances.

"You must be Angel," the young woman smiled in a way that told him she knew several things he didn't.

Angel nodded. "Where is she? I mean," he amended, regretting his impoliteness, "May I see her?"

"I appreciate the manners. The other one wasn't so…" she trailed off, apparently deciding to leave that topic. "She's in here," the young blonde motioned towards a mahogany door that was slightly ajar.

"_Straightway I was 'ware,  
__So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move,  
__And drew me backward by the hair;"_

He found her sleeping. With deep conflictions, he granted her an hours' more rest before waking her with his deathly gentle touch. She roused from her sleep with a violent jolt, easing considerably at his proximity.

"You came," she grinned with fragility that had been absent the last time he had seen her. Granted, it had been a while. She heaved herself upright with his aid, her frail frame seeming to appreciate the strength it found in his support.

"Of course I did," he smiled back, his pain much more ill-disguised than hers.

"I missed you," she told him, tears leaking onto her damaged, ageing skin.

"I missed you," he reciprocated, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. "So much."

"You haven't changed at all," she said, half-amused, half-awestruck. She greedily drank in his features with her much-deprived eyes, as if they were her last meal. Which, she supposed with some sorrow, they were.

"Neither have you," he replied, soliciting a chuckle from her as she self-consciously brushed her greying roots with her brittle fingertips.

Suddenly she was solemn. "I'm glad you came," she said, more tears spilling over. "I waited," she whispered hoarsely. "I waited for so long. And now you're here."

"I'm here," he smiled again, his own tears granted free reign on his cheeks. "Where are the rest of them? Where is everyone?"

She shook her head. "They won't make it in time. I had wished they would, but they won't. I wasn't even sure if you'd make it in time, and you're half the distance from here that they are. It's alright," she motioned towards a video camera beside her bed. "There are always contingencies."

"You don't have to go," he pleaded, "They'll make it soon. Just wait."

She shook her head again mid-cough, and he knew that it was no good. "I've waited for so long," she whispered sadly, the hoarseness in her voice becoming more prominent, "So long…"

"Buffy," he begged, growing desperate, "A little bit longer. Stay with me a little bit longer. It's too soon."

She didn't even bother to shake her head this time, the movement seeming too tasking for her. "I'm always with you. I know you have the dreams too."

He was stunned into silence before the gravity of the situation brought him harshly back into the present. "…I do, but stay. For them."

The tears trickling down her face ran faster as her heart sped and stuttered. "I would if I could, believe me. But, I can't. I really can't. I could only have one."

"One what?"

The look she gave him that he supposed was meant to be a smile pulled at his heart strings so strongly that he felt his knees grow weak with hopelessness. "One person. That I wished for. To be here. I didn't wish…" she looked rueful, "I thought they would have been nearer. The Powers said they would reward me for all I did. I could only have one. I didn't know they'd need a flight," she coughed. "Tell them I'm sorry.

"Angel?" She looked up at him in earnest and tugged him closer as he took a seat next to her on the bed. Planting her lips softly on his, she whispered; "I love you," into his ear.

"I love you," he whispered back as she squirmed into his arms.

"Read to me," she requested, passing him an open book and indicating the spot she was up to.

Recognising it, he turned to the first faded page and smiled at his familiar calligraphy.

_'Always.'_

Resuming at her spot - resolutely ignoring the short gasps that were now her breaths and the sobs that were trying to break from his chest, he spoke softly;

"_And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,  
_'_Guess who holds thee?'  
_'_Death,' I said. But there, the silver rang,"_ he read as he felt her grip tighten and her heart falter its' last few beats; his tears flowing freely;  
'_Not death,' _he spoke into her hair as she grew still in his arms;  
'_But Love.'"_


End file.
